Un Papillon
by ScarletNor
Summary: France both loved and hated Marie Antoinette. But no matter what she did, she never deserved such humiliation...


**Title: Un Papillon  
>Rating: T<br>Characters: France, Marie Antoinette, Antoine Quentin Fouquier-Tenville, Jacqeus René Hébert  
>Warnings: Blocks of text, potentially boring, and slightly biased views.<strong>

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.**

France had always loved women. No matter what the latest trends dictated, he had always thought that every one of the "fairer sex" were beautiful, and to him, each of them was a separate, beautiful butterfly. From the lovely Mary Tudor (English, Henry VIII's younger sister, not his insane daughter) to the plain prostitutes of Versailles, he loved them all. In a roundabout way, they were his children. And what parent didn't love their children?

Many regarded France to be a pervert who was incapable of platonic or fatherly love, but he had proven them wrong, many times. There were just some women who were so wonderful and so delicate that he would never dream of ruining their loveliness. France treated his butterflies as gently as he could, but sometimes, he would accidently crush them within his nimble hands. One wrong move, and he would somehow wind up killing someone he used to love. Someone not only he, but almost the entire population of France used to love.

Marie Antoinette was one such figure. He would never have imagined that the trembling, unsure young Austrian girl would ever become the woman standing before him then. The former ruler looked old, tired. His basic instincts were screaming at him to get his sorry bottom off his seat next to Fouquier-Tinville and give it to his worn-down _papillon, _who now bore an ironic resemblance to _un papillon de nuit. _He winced slightly when his war-trained ears picked up a soft mutter of "Autrichienne" from someone in the crowd gathered to witness Marie Antoinette's trial.

France wanted to tell the whole room about how Marie Antoinette would never commit the scandalous crimes Hébert was about to accuse her of. He was as tired as the next Frenchman, and he had heard his fair share of rumours and seen enough to convince himself that Marie Antoinette was a terrible candidate for a ruler. She was intelligent in that she knew how to manipulate and hold on to power, but she was not intelligent enough to know how to manage money. His queen was mostly a bubble-headed child who was too ignorant of the things she should know and aware of the things she shouldn't… And that both saved her and killed her at the same time. She had been careless with money. She had done foolish things and offended people she shouldn't. Most of all, Marie Antoinette had forgotten about what she had wanted so badly to do at the start.

_What happened? Why did you lose sight of that aim? _France wondered, keeping his pained gaze down on the wooden surface as Marie Antoinette delivered short, monosyllabic answers, denying the ridiculous claims made by his revolutionary leaders. _You used to want so badly to make the people of France love you. _The evidence was pathetically insufficient and Fouquier-Tenville was beginning to get on France's nerves. But he still couldn't dismiss the thought: was she guilty, or was she not? He had more evidence of her evil deeds than anyone else, but he also had plenty of evidence of her idiocy being her only crime. She didn't deserve this humiliation.

Yet France understood. He understood that Fouquier-Tenville _had _to eliminate Marie Antoinette, or else the tyranny of the monarchy would never be truly done. _At the same time… can't this be done any other way? _Sure they needed a juicy tidbit, a final fatal blow to convince France of the villainy of Marie Antoinette... _But ironically, I, as France, don't know at all. Is she or is she not? This… is giving me a headache. I don't want to think about this anymore. I don't want to think at all._ France massaged his temples and despaired as Hébert began to make his case.

"No… no, no, nonono…!" France muttered softly, finding it harder and harder to keep his composure. He earned a dark glare from Fouquier-Tenville. Looking up at Marie-Antoinette, France sent her an imploring look. If he had looked harder and tried to decipher her body language, he would've sensed the discomfort and pain radiating off her as Hébert finished the hotchpotch accusations and moved on to the sickening details, outlandish claims about her sexually abusing her son. He looked so incredibly self-satisfied that France had to repress a sudden urge to grab him by the collar and fling him out of the room. She remained stoic and silent still, even when faced by a man who aimed to strip her of her last vestige of humanity in the public eye. Fouquier-Tenville hastily asked if Marie Antoinette had anything to respond, bringing France's attention back to her.

"I have no knowledge of the facts of which Hébert speaks," Marie Antoinette said, her voice emotionless._ This is ridiculous. I cannot believe this._ Fouquier-Tenville, now made uncomfortable by the slanderous accusations, quickly went on to ask about the less severe accusations made by Hébert. When a member of the damned jury asked about the incestuous claims, France couldn't keep his eyes off Marie Antoinette. He saw the villains, the saints, the bad and the good in his history.

"If I have not replied," Marie Antoinette said, her voice strong and filled with raw emotion, "it is because Nature itself refuses to answer such a charge laid against a mother." France felt tears rise to his eyes at her words. He felt sick to the pit of his stomach when he realised what Marie Antoinette was doing: she was refusing to give in, refusing to give her opponents the satisfaction of participating in the circus of a trial. She had been stupid, but she was no to face the assembled crowd directly, Marie Antoinette challenged them.

"I appeal to all mothers here present. Is it true?" Marie Antoinette asked, defiant and pained all at once. The room fell silent for a moment, and France thought for a moment that perhaps they understood the stupidity of it all. France knew that he felt little regret about sending Marie Antoinette to the scaffold… He but wished that she could've gone with more dignity. As the trial drew to an end, France stood on shaking legs and delivered the damning sentence. Marie Antoinette's gaze a vindictive one, and it hurt him when he recognised the childish young girl within that gaze. Unable to resist, France whispered softly, _"Je suis désolé, mon papillon." _Fouquier-Tenville hadn't noticed, but perhaps Marie Antoinette had noticed his lips move. But when he looked at her, he saw no trace of forgiveness.

_Tomorrow, Marie Antoinette, exit stage right._

* * *

><p><strong>Think of this as a closure to the mini-Marie Antoinette arc. And the desperate attempt of a writer who honestly couldn't pull up anything else. I will never offer to write French history, ever again. Also, I apologise for the lateness. School started and... well... trouble follows the start of school. My apologies. This is heavily referenced from Becoming Marie Antoinette: A Novel by Juliet Grey as well as this article: http: / /2010 /04/02/ marie-antoinette-and -her-children- the-shocking-accusations-at-marie-antoinettes-trial/**

**This chapter is pathetically rant-y and cliché. So sue me.**

**Translations: Je suis désolé, mon papillon: I'm sorry, my butterfly.  
>Un papillon de nuit: Moth<strong>


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